Misunderstandings
by Suspicious Popsicle
Summary: Yuri's mouth was hot and demanding and full of the sharp taste of alcohol. Perhaps that was his impetus for following Flynn into the restroom, for shoving him against the wall without warning, for kissing him so desperately out of the blue.


A/N: I wrote this one right after reading Kate Griffin's A Madness of Angels, which is a stunning urban fantasy with some incredible descriptive language. This short was a combination of a morning after prompt (I thought you'd be gone when I woke up) and some descriptive writing practice.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

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The heavy, thumping bass of a song that was all rhythm and noise reverberated through the thin wall separating the men's toilet from the club proper. The beat pounded straight into Flynn's spine where he was pinned up against the wall. It buzzed against his palms and tickled in his lungs. The strength of it reset the rhythm of his heart, or maybe that sudden rush could be attributed to the feel of Yuri pressed flush up against him, fists knotted in Flynn's collar. His lips were warm and just a little chapped. His mouth was hot and demanding and full of the sharp taste of alcohol. Perhaps that was his impetus for following Flynn into the restroom, for shoving him against the wall without warning, for kissing him so desperately out of the blue.

Shock was the intoxicant that held Flynn in place as Yuri's tongue slipped along the seam of his lips. Yuri's face was blurred, so close. His eyes were closed. His skin radiated heat. He was trembling very slightly, and it occurred to Flynn that Yuri was likely leaning against him so heavily as much to hold himself up as to hold Flynn in place. It would be easy, then, to push him back, to sidestep out of his reach, to flee the dingy, stinking restroom with its yellowed light and cracked, moldering tiles, its drifts of damp paper and flowerings of obscene graffiti. It would be easy to get away from Yuri and his bewildering fickleness. It _should_ be...but...

" _...gone by the time I woke up."_

 _What was that supposed to mean? How could he imply...? Did he_ want _Flynn gone? "Excuse me for not running away from my mistakes."_

 _Yuri's eyes, narrowing to slits. Yuri's fists, clenching around the bedsheets. "Get out."_

Raising his hands, Flynn gripped Yuri's shoulders and pushed him gently back. Yuri's face was flushed, his expression dazed. Briefly, his eyes flicked up to meet Flynn's. The poor lighting turned them the muddy gray of stagnant puddles. He sighed heavily, shoulders heaving under Flynn's hands. Eyes sliding shut, a muttered 'fuck it' falling from his lips, he surged forward. Flynn's scattered thoughts had not even had time to coalesce into a single question before Yuri was kissing him again. He filled Flynn's arms before Flynn had even realized that his hold had become an embrace.

The initial shock had passed. The kiss was warm and immediate, flavored with alcohol and bright hints of fruit. Flynn parted his lips around Yuri's tongue, tilted his head, deepened the kiss. Yuri's breath came in quick little huffs against his skin, in gasps between the soft, wet sounds of their mouths forming shapes against each other, seeking the pleasure of motion and the perfect connection. He held Yuri crushed up close against him, digging his fingers into the dip of his spine and curling them into fists around the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

Yuri moaned faintly into the kiss, and the sound awoke memory.

 _...scrape of nails across his back, their sting made worse by the sweat trickling down his skin. The bed rocked beneath them, the frame creaking its wooden screams in time with Yuri's gasps. His voice rose to cries, to shouts. He swore and begged for more. Not once, however, did he cry out Flynn's name._

That night, they had both been drinking.

The kiss lost coherency. They ground against each other, gasping open-mouthed for air that seemed suddenly in short supply. Flynn grew lightheaded amid the brush of tongues, the shallow, feverish pace of his breathing. Yuri's name broke free on a breath, and, in the next second, his mouth was once again sealed tight by the kiss. He sucked in air through his nose, let inarticulate moans rise in his throat. Yuri's hands were in his hair, fingers pressing into his scalp, flexing with the rhythm of lips and tongues, of breath and pulse, of the beat still rumbling through the wall and underscoring it all, the entire experience dizzying, surreal, and so exactly what Flynn wanted—what he had been wanting since that morning an endless week ago—that he no longer cared how imperfectly it had begun or how undesirable the surroundings. Nothing else mattered...

...until the door flew open with a bang, admitting a burst of humid air reeking of sweat, and a man who stumbled in and froze, steadying himself against the sink as he gaped at them.

Everything froze. The steady, throbbing beat of the music timed the lengthening pause in counterpoint to the thundering of Flynn's heart. He felt the seconds pass in his wrists and neck, on the back of his tongue and in his eardrums, between his shoulders, still pressed up against the vibrating wall. It was a roaring, thumping, awkward silence.

"'s is th' men's room," the man finally managed. He had directed the statement to Yuri.

Flynn felt Yuri tense at the mistake. He grabbed his wrist as they pulled apart and hurried him out of the restroom. On the way past, the man leered at him.

"You can hook up inna stall I don' mind."

He didn't dignify the remark with a response, and dragged Yuri quickly away so that he couldn't do so, either.

Outside the restroom, the music was a physical presence, pushing in against Flynn's eardrums. He couldn't remember it having been so loud before. He couldn't remember the crush of bodies being so hard to navigate or the lighting so difficult to adjust to. Shadows loomed and became people dancing past. Gaps in the crowd were illusionary. He wove his way through the noise and chaos toward the beckoning red glow of the exit sign, dragging Yuri behind him. His palm was sweaty, and he feared with every jostle, every instance where his shifting path closed in between them, that he would lose his grip on Yuri's hand. He couldn't have said why he was so afraid of losing Yuri even for a moment in the crowd. He only wanted to get both of them out of there.

The bar on the door clattered beneath his hand as he hit it in his charge and strode right on through. A wake of cold, wet air swirled into the club behind them as the rainy night poured down. It hissed and splashed, gurgling in gutters and soaking them through as Flynn made a run for the nearest bus stop and left the pulsing music and churning crowds behind.

The rain was angry static against the roof of the bus stop. No one else was in sight. Flynn took a moment to gather himself, to catch his breath and steady his heart and try to force some order upon his whirling thoughts. He shuddered as rainwater dripped down his hair and face, trickled down his neck, slid beneath his collar.

 _He came back in from the shower, a towel draped over his head as he rubbed his hair dry. Yuri's bedroom was gray with only the morning light filtering through the blinds to illuminate it. He was sitting up in his bed, naked still, though the sheets lapped at his waist like the waves of a frozen ocean. Leaning against the wall, his knees were drawn up, and, though he glanced at Flynn, his gaze darted away just as quickly. Embarrassment? Regret?_

 _His words, though spoken softly, shot through Flynn's own uncertainties to pierce straight through his heart._

" _Thought you'd be gone by the time I woke up."_

Beside him, Yuri held his arms out and tried to fling the water from them. Recognizing the uselessness of his approach, he wiped them and his face on his soaked shirt, a measure that did him little to no good, and then shoved his hands into his pockets. He shifted on his feet, pacing a step or two in either direction. Flynn hadn't expected him to address what had just happened, but Yuri surprised him with a gusty sigh.

"Fuck." He muttered the word without any real heat behind it. "Shouldn't have had that third drink."

His eyes were on the concrete at his feet, on the buildings across the road, the traffic light down the street—anywhere but on Flynn. When he finally looked up, it was to flash Flynn a smile quick as the glare of headlights from a passing car. The expression was almost fleeting enough to hide the regret.

"That night—when we went back to my place after Estelle and Rita's wedding—that wasn't a drunken impulse. Well, I mean, it kind of was, but it wasn't a mistake. Not to me, anyway."

He rocked back on his heels, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, gaze wandering back toward the street, the rain-slicked roads, the cars streaked with the orange glow of streetlights, tires that hissed through puddles and threw spray over the curb. He was starting to shiver. His hair was runnels of ink over his forehead and cheeks. It flowed over his shoulders, bleeding into the black of his t-shirt. The lights gave it a dull, orange sheen. When dry, it would brush over skin or slip through fingers just as soft as a summer breeze. Flynn started to reach out to him. Uncertainty curled his fingers and dropped his hand to his side.

"You said that you'd expected me to be gone." _Wanted_ him gone? Expected Flynn to regret? To flee rather than face consequences?

"Yeah. I did. I had."

" _Why_?" If Yuri had been truthful that night, why had he expected any less from Flynn?

"Aside from the fact that this sort of thing can really fuck up a good friendship?" He shrugged. "Thought you were straight."

"I'm bi." He flushed at the admission, the only time he had ever stated such openly, and added helplessly: "Apparently. And what about you? Aren't you the same?"

"No." He shuffled his feet, frowning now, but Flynn wasn't about to let it go. Something wasn't making sense.

"You told me you weren't gay."

"I'm not. I don't know what I am. None of the above." He kicked at a pebble and watched it skid off the curb. "Not right," he mumbled under his breath.

"But you like me."

"Yeah." He barked a laugh. "Maybe I'm Flynnsexual. There's a good one for your ego."

"This isn't _about_ my ego!" He hadn't meant to snap, but it got Yuri to look at him again, at least for a moment before he nodded and turned his face away.

"Yeah. I know. You're a good guy. A good friend. That's why I could tell you all this, I guess. Kind of why I had to." He rounded on Flynn, facing him properly, pulling his hands free and squaring his shoulders. "Look, you can bail after this if you want. I'd rather things went back to the way they were before it got all awkward. This last week has been hell, though. I couldn't keep going like that."

"There's still a third option, though, right?"

Yuri studied him a moment, suspicious. "If you're fucking with me, I will absolutely kick your ass."

"If I'm as good a guy as you say, then how about a little credit for it once in a while?" He ticked off points on his fingers. "Neither of us got _that_ drunk at the reception, _I_ wasn't the one who was going to hide away from what happened—"

" _You_ said it was a mistake!"

"—and I'm pretty sure I remember kissing you back just a few minutes ago!"

They stared each other down, locked into a stalemate as traffic swished past and the rain continued to pour. Eventually, a smile broke through on Yuri's face. It grew to a grin, then to a huff of laughter, and he turned away, stuffing his hands once more into his pockets.

"You're blushing," he said.

"I am not!" He was certain Yuri was right.

"Yeah, you are." The sly grin on his face lit up his eyes in a way Flynn hadn't seen for a week. Yuri could tease to his heart's content if it meant he would be able to smile like that. "Just now getting embarrassed over making out in a public restroom?"

"You could have picked a better time and place to reach your limit. Maybe..." Looking at Yuri, he hesitated, suddenly off-balance and not at all sure he'd gotten his meaning across. They'd already had one major misunderstanding. "Maybe we should find someplace more private—Your place. Or mine.—and...start over. Maybe...maybe take things a little slower this time."

Again, Yuri studied him a moment before nodding. He ducked his head and pulled out his phone. "I'll let the others know we're taking off early so they don't wait for us."

As he typed into his phone, Flynn stepped up behind him. They were both drenched, so he didn't have much to offer in the way of warmth, but he wrapped his arms around Yuri anyway. The world had been out of synch for the past week, ever since he had woken up naked with Yuri in his arms and been sent packing shortly thereafter. Now, as he locked his fingers together over Yuri's chest, something clicked back into place. He had a feeling that this change was going to be a difficult one at times, but that thought didn't come anywhere near matching the anxiety he'd felt over the past seven days. He'd been living with the fear that he'd made an unimaginably costly mistake.

Waiting for a bus on a rainy evening, he relaxed. He felt the tension fade from Yuri's shoulders as well, and smiled. On impulse, he kissed Yuri's cheek. Close as they were, Yuri couldn't hide the blush that rose beneath his skin. He could, however, provide a distraction and did so, turning his head to catch Flynn's lips. One brief kiss wasn't enough for either of them. Neither was a second, or a third. Yuri turned in his arms, and together they fell into a slow, sweet rhythm, shivering, hearts pounding a baseline, fingers twining gently together between them. Even when the bus arrived, Yuri kept his grip on one of Flynn's hands, holding tight all the way back to his apartment.


End file.
